


redamancy

by cymbalaire (aigremoine)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, slightly dystopian/authoritarian universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27923311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aigremoine/pseuds/cymbalaire
Summary: in a society where the government decides each individual’s ideal match with the purpose of stabilizing the population numbers, you find yourself suddenly engaged to a stranger named iwaizumi hajime
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 73





	redamancy

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my tumblr. a massive overhaul of one of my first fics from my previous blog, which may be familiar to an extent to those who followed me previously

You hold your head high and straighten your posture as you cross the street, the glass and concrete building looming closer with each step, and you stifle a sigh. The stares of passersby shift towards your direction when they notice your presence, tiny apologetic smiles and solemn gazes as they go about their own way, each one sporting similar pink peony badges on their lapels. There is only one reason that someone who does not possess the Ministry of Family Affairs' emblem on their left chest would ever approach the dreaded headquarters, one they are all aware of and the sight far too commonplace over the years. You bite your tongue, keeping your gaze in front of you and focusing on the rhythmic _clack-clack_ of your shoes on the stone tiles as you push open the wide glass doors. 

Pity was appreciated but unnecessary.

The lobby of the Ministry of Family Affairs' headquarters is pristine, all marble, and upholstery in charcoal and white, resembling a chic shopping center than the offices of a government branch. A recorded voice on the speakers plays, chipperly announcing " _congratulations to last month’s twenty married couples!_ " as you approach the receptionist's counter to provide your name. With a swift nod, the receptionist automatically guides you up the stairs to the second level of the lobby, stops before a partly opened black wooden door labeled _Meeting Room 2_ , and knocks on it to signal your arrival.

A woman in a neat pinstripe suit with the badge pinned to her collar smiles upon your entrance, gestures for you to sit on the black leather chair on the other side of the table. “Welcome to the Ministry of Family Affairs,” she greets as the door closes. “Thank you for coming today.”

You only nod in response. Formalities, you think, but you'd instead she cut to the chase and get it over with – you have an inkling that she is aware that you know where this conversation is headed, and the end of your lunch break is approaching. Luckily, she seems to read your thoughts, and she folds her hands on the table. "I am _very_ pleased to inform you that the Ministry of Family Affairs has matched you to an individual whom we deem to be your most ideal partner for a marriage that will not just benefit you – but also our fellow citizens and country.”

Your stomach lurches, a violent sensation that threatens bile to rise, and you force yourself to exhale and keep steady. In hindsight, you have been expecting this announcement – a message from the so-called _necessary evil_ of a government body. It would have been unusual for you to not have received the summons at your age, many of your friends and similarly aged colleagues already recipients of the revelation, weddings of those you know coming and going like the tide. Still, the announcement is a shock, and you swallow the lump in your throat. "Oh," you manage, and you hope that your voice doesn't give away your feelings.

She doesn't seem to notice, pushing forward a stiff white envelope to your direction with a saccharine smile. "Your future spouse is named Iwaizumi Hajime," she informs. "This envelope contains all the information you need to know about him before your marriage. Please make sure you read it thoroughly before your first meeting.

“Your first meeting will take place in The Plaza’s finest Lathyrus lounge for afternoon tea next Saturday at two in the afternoon. Please let us know if you cannot make it due to illness or other circumstances; otherwise, your future spouse hopes to meet you then." She smiles at you one more time. "Do you have any questions or concerns?"

 _Of course_ , you do, and you bite your lip as the tempest of uncertainty grows violent, thoughts and feelings crashing into one another. On what basis did the Ministry make their match? Why did they think he’s _the one_ for you? What does he look like? What kind of person is he? What if everything falls apart during the meeting and goes poorly? _Why do you have to marry him?_

Instead, you raise your gaze to meet hers, stifling it all back down into the depths, and you shake your head. “No, I don’t.”

* * *

Nervousness simmers within you over the week, gradually rising with each passing day as much as you try to push it out of your mind and proceed as usual. Everything after that meeting unfolded far too quickly, the events a blur and pieced in random order: your family and close friends are informed of the news, the tears and anger before the numbness and resignation, worries sprouting and winding like ivies whenever you glance at your calendar. _It is all normal_ , they tell you, all part of the acceptance that you are now in an _arranged engagement_ with a stranger. Your supposed fiancé's existence's only guarantee is the printed words on the paper and the accompanying photograph obviously lifted from his government ID.

A glance over your shoulder reminds you of the envelope’s presence resting on your coffee table, the file on a certain Iwaizumi Hajime scattered on its surface. You’ve read the file multiple times now that you’re pretty sure that you know every detail by heart: _birthday is June 10th, astrological sign is Gemini, favorite food is agedashi tofu, currently working as a physiotherapist in the Capitol Hospital since last year –_

Words, numbers, and a stern-looking face on a piece of paper. That’s all.

 _It is all normal_ , but you shudder at the thought that he also possesses documents about you. A realization threatens to manifest in your mind, but you immediately shove it back down into the depths; you don't want to think about what information they provided him about you, nor _how_ they collected it. The government knows all, the reality of this society you are too familiar with and never fails to send a prickle of uneasiness down your spine

 _It will be fine_ , your family and friends’ words ring in your ear as you examine your reflection on the mirror, hair and makeup carefully arranged for the afternoon. A shaky sigh escapes you when you recall their attempts to soothe your feelings; they were one of the lucky ones whose marriages unfolded according to the Ministry’s plan and one of the numbers of the boasted so-called _ninety-nine percent success rate_ – unfamiliarity blossoming into pure affection, the eventual birth of children, and the creation of a loving family. But you know that there are unmentioned outliers in every statistic: failed marriages, the bride or groom vanishing before the wedding ceremony, a secret couple eloping in the night and disappearing to never be seen again.

You’re not sure which part of the percentages you’ll be part of.

Apprehension continues to bubble, each passing second bringing you closer to your upcoming meeting, but you straighten your posture and hold your head high. At the very least, you can pretend to be confident, and you smile at your reflection. It is natural and gentle, candid as though you’ve been caught smiling to yourself, more than satisfactory to keep plastered on your face as you turn on your heel to shut off the bathroom light and close the door.

 _Smile, be polite, and get it over with_.

The afternoon's destination is a majestic hotel in the heart of the city managed by the Ministry of Education, Culture, and Arts, aptly named The Plaza, possessing pointed arches, expansive windows with ornate patterns, and vaulted ceilings. The pulsation of your heart is loud and strong against your ribcage, intensifying with each step you take to the entrance and closer to your meeting with your fiancé. You exhale when you place your hand on the ornate handle, the metal cold in your grasp, and finally push open the establishment's door.

The hostess smiles upon your arrival, almost knowingly, and she leads you to the Lathyrus salon. As expected, the vicinity is crowded with members of the upper-middle and upper-crust enjoying their afternoon tea, tables decorated with bouquets of flowers, tiered tea trays, and beautiful china tea sets. The reserved table is in a private corner of the salon, separated from others' prying eyes by an ornate wooden room divider, and you swallow when you find yourself face to face with your fiancé.

Iwaizumi Hajime is far more handsome than the photograph attached to the document, with defined features and a striking gaze. His eyes widen, and brows rise when he notices your arrival, and you find yourself momentarily dazed at the kind yet sheepish smile that breaks out across his face. “Hi,” he greets. “Are you…?”

Iwaizumi's voice trails off, as though asking for permission to address you by your name, and you snap out of your reverie, nodding a little too vigorously. He allows himself to call you by your given name, gentle and light when it escapes his lips as though handling silk, and before urging you to sit down at the empty chair across from him. You do so, sitting a little too stiffly on the plush seat, and you notice that his shoulders are also tense.

“So,” he says. “Here we are then.”

You nod in acknowledgment. "Yeah."

Silence.

It is heavy, almost suffocating, and you bite your tongue as the seconds tick by slowly. You're not entirely sure what to say to this man who is now your betrothed; half of you wants to make a good first impression, and the other wanting to end the uncomfortable quietness. But before you can think of a neutral topic to talk about, Iwaizumi speaks up.

“Uh…it’s really nice to finally meet you,” he says earnestly. “You know, before the…wedding.”

The word reminds you that you’re going to _marry_ Iwaizumi shortly and the apprehension returns. “Oh, um…likewise.”

You look down at the white teacup placed before you, and he clears his throat, making you look up to meet his eyes. There's a soft look in them as his lips form a gentle smile, and you feel butterflies rousing in your insides. "We'll make it work out," he assures.

There is a seedling of doubt, uncertainty if the words are a façade or genuine, but the knots in your stomach loosen at the cordiality in his voice.

A server pushing a silver tea cart arrives to the table as if notified by your arrival and the table's completion. After a brief introduction of the menu for your afternoon together, the server lays out two glasses of brut champagne, tea and tableware and cutlery, and a three-tiered serving tray containing delectable sandwiches, scones, and pastries. Tea is poured out into the teacups and the both of you extend words of gratitude to the server, before you quietly pour a drop of milk and stir in a teaspoon of sugar into your cup of Darjeeling.

“So, uh…” he attempts. “How are things with you?”

“Not too bad,” you answer with a tiny smile. “A little busy. I usually do my chores on Saturdays.”

Iwaizumi nods. “Oh, same.”

“What about you?”

“Well…I had a short morning shift at the hospital, then I did some grocery shopping.”

“Ah…you work at the hospital, right?”

“Yeah, I’m a physiotherapist,” he answers, a proud grin breaking out across his face. “What about you?”

“Oh, I work with the Ministry of Finance – administrative stuff like recordkeeping and things like that...” Your voice trails off when you catch your tone before quickly adding with a wave of your hands, “I don’t hate it, by the way.”

Iwaizumi laughs, the sound warm and friendly, and you freeze at his unexpected reaction. “Sure, you don’t.”

“No, I –”

“I get you – you don’t have to worry,” he explains. “Sorry, I just thought it would be fun to joke a bit.”

Something is reassuring and gentle in his voice and the tension from your shoulders begins to ease, and you find yourself smiling softly. “Oh…got it.”

Perhaps that’s all it takes it needs to break the ice, you suppose, as the rest of afternoon tea unfolds quickly. Iwaizumi listens intently to every word you say, nodding and asking questions but still leaving you room to answer as you wish. He asks simple questions that one might expect when meeting someone new – your favorite color, what you liked to eat, your hobbies, whether you liked dogs or cats. By the time all the snacks on the tiered tray and the teapot are emptied, you feel more familiar with your fiancé, his presence more authentic than printed words from a government file.

And perhaps, _just perhaps_ , Iwaizumi wasn’t so bad after all.

“Do you need a ride back?” he asks, fishing out his keys from his jacket pocket once the two of you emerge from the hotel and into the sunny late afternoon. “I can drop you off if you’d like.”

You pause at the offer, thoughtful and wholly unexpected. “Are you sure? I live on the other side of the city.”

His lips quirk into a friendly smile. “No problem, I don’t mind at all. My car’s just this way.”

You follow Iwaizumi as he leads the way to the parking lot behind The Plaza and to a spotless black car, its headlights flashing once when he presses on the remote in his hands to unlock the doors. He opens the passenger door for you, flashing you another pleasant grin, and you can’t help but laugh softly at his gesture. “Thank you,” you tell him.

Iwaizumi nods, “any time.”

The conversation continues during the drive with the two of you exchanging anecdotes from your daily lives, mishaps at work, occasional snide remarks about the gaudy government signs passed by on the road, and preferences on a myriad of different topics. His company is pleasant, you think to yourself, as Iwaizumi laughs at a comment you make about tea (“It’s leaf water and you can’t convince me otherwise.” “We drank leaf water for three hours – did you forget about that?”) before catching yourself. It feels like you’re with someone you’ve known for a long time, perhaps a gathering between friends or even a _date_ , and not in a government-mandated meeting. Something is promising about that, but you keep that to yourself and shove it in your subconscious's depths, as the vehicle comes to a stop by your apartment building.

He accompanies you to the main entrance, pausing when the two of you reach the front steps. “So…” Iwaizumi begins, cracking another smile. “It was nice meeting you – I had a good time.”

“Same here,” you echo, smiling back. “It was nice.”

Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck, gaze wandering from the ground to the sky. “Would it…”

You cast him an expectant look, and his voice comes out as careful and gentle as he treads lightly. “Would it be okay if I ask for your number?”

There’s a light dusting of pink on Iwaizumi’s cheeks upon his words, yet he stares at you with intense sincerity that leaves you speechless. It’s only logical for him to ask you for your phone number – he is your _fiancé_ , after all, but the look in his eyes is earnest, as though he is doing it out of his own will and not out of obligation in your new relationship.

“Sure,” you respond with a smile, fishing your phone from your coat pocket.

The exchange of contact information is swift, and when Iwaizumi pockets his phone once more, he gives you a smile. “I’ll see you again soon?” He prompts.

“Is that a question or a statement?”

A pause. “Both?”

An idea suddenly springs into your mind, and you decide to be playful. “Do I _have_ to see you again?”

His eyes widen at your words, but the farce ends instantaneously when you laugh, eyes crinkling into half-moons. “I was joking,” you reassure him. “I just thought it would be fun to joke a bit.”

Iwaizumi’s lips part as he tries to form a coherent response, before a chuckle finally escapes him, his frame relaxing. “That’s what I get for my trick earlier, huh?”

“Maybe.”

"I'll watch it next time then.” The grin from earlier returns before he adds in a more confident voice, “then, I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Iwaizumi waves before turning and heading back to his parked vehicle's direction, and you watch his retreating figure, your hand lingering on the door handle. _He is your fiancé now_ , you think to yourself _, of course, you will see him again_. It’s part of the role and expectations the two of you have to fulfill, each other’s assigned matches, nothing out of the ordinary or unexpected.

But as you head up the stairs to your apartment, you have a passing thought that you don’t mind spending time with him again.

* * *

It is never best to get comfortable and have high expectations, you remind yourself. It’s one of the lessons you’ve learned over the years with the government's sudden decisions, a reminder that the lives of the citizens are in the hands of the Ministries and never of the people themselves. They are _always_ watching and listening, their eyes and ears hidden in society's everyday surroundings, knowing too much but not enough.

So, when Iwaizumi texts you regularly, you can’t help but initially think this is all an act.

His messages are simple, yet it’s easy to sense the warmth in his voice with each word on your screen: Iwaizumi greets you every morning, asks about your plans, and hopes you’ll have a good day. He asks how your day went, anecdotes shared between the two of you, and wishes you a good night at the end of each day. As much as you’d like to think it is a performance, there is something genuine, perhaps even _heartwarming_ , at how he regularly checks up on you and shares short stories from his day. And maybe, _just maybe_ , you start looking forward to hearing your phone buzz at the arrival of a new text message and reading his name on the screen with each passing day.

But, when he calls you during your lunch break at work, you almost drop your phone into your soup. It takes a second for you to finally press the green icon to take the call, and you swallow to clear your throat. "Hi?"

“Hey,” Iwaizumi greets. “Sorry, you’re at work, right?”

"Yeah, I'm just on my break, though."

“Oh! Maybe I’ll just call back when your shift finishes.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. What is it?”

There’s a pause, an intake of breath, and then Iwaizumi speaks. “The Ministry of Family Affairs sent an email just now.”

You purse your lips. “Oh.”

“They…arranged, uh, dates? For us every week starting this Saturday.”

You stare down at the broth in the bowl, brows furrowing as you try to process this new information. “I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, it’s ridiculous, I know.” You hear the clicking of a mouse before he continues, "They want us to spend every Saturday together to get to know each other, and they already listed when and where we should go.”

“And this is all in the email?”

“All in the email,” confirms Iwaizumi. There is another moment of silence, more clicking, and a sigh. “We don’t…have to do what they say.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t have to do what the email says and meet every Saturday. If you don’t want to, it’s fine with me – I just want you to feel comfortable.”

Something within you twinges at his words, and you bite your bottom lip. It’s another thoughtful offer since your first meeting; only this one carries significant weight, genuineness in midst of a synthetic situation. Everything in your new relationship so far has been planned, and his proposal is a reminder that you still can make your own decision despite the arrangements, returning a little piece of control in the uncontrollable.

But they are listening and watching. The eyes and ears are everywhere.

You carefully choose your words before finally answering, “Iwaizumi.”

“Yes?”

“I…don’t mind,” you answer, the soup forming a whirlpool as you stir your spoon in the bowl. “I know everything's been planned out, but if we’re going to get married soon, I…” you pause momentarily. “I think I’d like to spend more time with you if that's okay."

It is silent, and you begin to wonder if your statement came out too strongly. You immediately start to formulate an excuse, but the sound of Iwaizumi chuckling from the other end interrupts your thoughts. “If you don’t mind, then I don’t mind,” he echoes. “It’d be nice to see you again.”

You can’t help but smile softly at his words. They are, admittedly, nice to hear, as much as how they are probably said out of duty. “Then, I look forward to it.”

The plans are finalized in a few minutes, much faster with the Ministry of Family Affairs’ involvement and predetermined arrangements, and the phone call ends. You let out a puff of air, setting down your device on the table and stare at the remaining broth. There isn’t much left to do other than go along with the path laid out for you; the Ministry’s decision was irreversible, and it was best to obey and keep your head lowered.

Still, it would be nice to see him again.

–

Iwaizumi picks you up on Saturday afternoon, waiting by the apartment building's main doors with his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. A smile immediately breaks out across his face when you emerge, his hand raising to wave, and you mimic the gesture as you near him. “Hey,” he greets.

“Hi,” you say, lips quirking into a tiny smile.

Iwaizumi pauses, gaze on you lingering, a light tinge of pink spreading across his cheeks. "You look, uh, beautiful today."

Your features feign an expression of disappointment, and you cross your arms on your chest, raising a brow at him. “Does that mean I looked bad last time?”

“N-no, that’s not what I –”

A laugh escapes you at his flustered reaction, and you wave a hand dismissively. “I was joking,” you assure. “Thank you, though.”

Iwaizumi’s shoulders relax as he runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I should get better at picking up if you’re joking or not.”

“Maybe that’s why the Ministry wants us to see each other more often.”

He chuckles. “Perhaps.”

The predetermined meeting – or perhaps a _date?_ – is at the movie theatre in the Arts and Culture District in the western end of downtown. Families are spending their weekend together, juggling snacks, while couples are walking about with an apparent distance between them. Maybe you and Iwaizumi look the same to others, you think to yourself as the two of you walk into the designated auditorium for the movie and choose your seats toward the back. It’s not a surprise to see that there are also matched couples spending the weekend together, not when it is mandated as part of your relationship.

Still, having the movie chosen for your meeting is a bit too much.

You glance at Iwaizumi from the corner of your eye, his gaze focused on the screen playing a romantic comedy film for the last hour or so. His expression doesn’t give away much; you’re not sure if he’s bored or indifferent or if he just possesses a natural poker face. But admittedly, the film is _boring_ , and you wonder why the Ministry of Family Affairs thought that two people who are unfamiliar to one another would get to know each other by sitting in the dark for three hours. It’s stifling and uncomfortable, incredibly forced, and you chew on your bottom lip.

An idea springs when you recall Iwaizumi’s words from earlier in the week, and you turn to him, tugging on the sleeve of his denim jacket. He raises a brow, and you lean close as to not disturb the other nearby patrons. “Iwaizumi,” you whisper. “Let’s go.”

Against the theatre's darkness and the light from the film, you can tell his eyes widen in surprise at your words. “Go where?”

“I don’t know, _somewhere_ – just not here.”

Iwaizumi blinks, and you continue, “remember you said we don’t have to do what they tell us? We don’t have to stay at the movies; we can probably do something else if we’re together. Besides, isn’t it a little boring?”

He searches your gaze for a moment before grinning, and the two of you quietly make your way to the back exit of the auditorium, your heart fluttering with nervousness and anticipation. Iwaizumi turns to you when you step out into the afternoon, amusement in his voice. “I didn’t think you would be the type to suggest sneaking out from a movie.”

You shrug. Admittedly, you didn’t think you were either, especially with the Ministry's specific instructions. A part of you feels nervous about disregarding the plan, but sitting in darkness with your new fiancé didn’t sound too _enjoyable_. “I just thought we could be spending our time better instead of watching a boring movie.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, eyes crinkling, and you find yourself smiling at the sight. “Yeah? Well, I’m glad you brought it up,” says Iwaizumi, retrieving his keys from his pocket. “We can do something else before dinner. Maybe we can go to the Shopping District?”

“Sure, let’s go.”

Maybe it’s your imagination, but the mood is lighter and more mellow when the two of you arrive at your destination, located in the core of downtown and a short drive from the movie theatre. The two of you spend the afternoon weaving in and out of the various shops, examining the goods at each stall lining the cobblestone paths, and finally sit at one of the benches adjacent to a water fountain with ice cream cones after window-shopping. You can’t help but glance at Iwaizumi as he observes the cooing pigeons while he enjoys his frozen dessert; there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, and his frame is relaxed, and you smile to yourself as you take a bite of the waffle cone and lean against the backrest.

It dawns on you that you’re also smiling more, and your posture is unrestrained.

Perhaps it’s because of your mutual decision to shift the plan without the involvement of the Ministry. You know their eyes and ears are around, though a part of you doesn’t mind. The two of you weren’t breaking any rules at all; surely, they would approve this moment of _improvisation_. Iwaizumi seems to think the same, as he clears his throat and speaks, “I hope we won’t get in trouble for this.”

"I don't think we will," you say. "They wanted us to spend time together, and that's what we're doing."

He hums in agreement. “That’s true. If we get in trouble, then I’ll say it’s your fault.”

You turn to him, aghast. “Iwaizumi!”

“Hey, you’re the one who said we should sneak out.”

“You’re throwing your fiancée under the bus?!”

Iwaizumi laughs, his shoulders shaking, and you stare at him in confusion with your brows furrowing. “S-sorry,” he breathes. “I was just joking – I didn’t think you would take it seriously.”

You scowl, reaching out to hit his arm with your fist repeatedly. “You’re _mean_ ,” you proclaim as he continues to laugh despite the jabs. “Don’t joke about that – what if it happens?! You know they –”

You pause, pursing your lips, but he seems to catch the meaning immediately. “It won’t, don’t worry. If it does, I won’t leave you behind.” Iwaizumi grins again. “I don’t want to be a bad fiancé.”

“You’re getting close to becoming one after that stunt,” you mutter, returning your attention to your ice cream.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“What if dinner’s on me tonight? Will that make it better?”

A tempting offer, and you hum, pretending to mull it over. There’s an expectant look in Iwaizumi’s eyes as he waits for your answer, and you sigh melodramatically. "Only if there are potatoes involved,” you answer.

He grins, and you can't help but smile too. “It’s a deal then,” he announces. “I know a great place.”

“Is that so? My standards are pretty high.”

“You’ll like it, I promise,” Iwaizumi declares, standing up and holding out his hand to you. You stare at his open palm for a moment before shifting your gaze to meet his, finding warmth and anticipation within them. The fluttering in your chest returns when you reach out, placing your hand on his and helps you up from the bench. The bright expression returns to his face as he turns to you. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The next couple of weeks leading into the following month unfold similarly with your weekly meetings arranged by the Ministry of Family Affairs. At the very least, they are more interactive and _less boring_ – you and Iwaizumi get coffee, a walk at the park alongside the river, visit the botanical garden and the art gallery, and share more dinners after wandering in the different districts in the city. Despite how prearranged your interactions are, you admit you enjoy Iwaizumi’s company, his warmth and cordialness a genuine display of who he really is: he offers you his jacket whenever it gets breezy, ensures you’re not pushing yourself too much when the two of you are out walking, and makes sure you clean your plate when you eat.

You almost roll your eyes when Iwaizumi continues to chide you for not finishing the rest of the asparagus on your plate accompanying your dinner as he walks you back to your apartment building after your post-shopping dinner. “Iwaizumi, I’m _not_ twelve.”

“This is why you stopped growing – you didn’t eat your vegetables.”

You hit his arm repeatedly at the cheeky comment, and Iwaizumi laughs, dodging the barrage of attacks directed towards him. “I guess you’re comfortable enough to be mean towards me now, huh?” he asks teasingly, eyes crinkling with amusement.

You pause, catching yourself, and you lower your hands. When did you become comfortable enough with Iwaizumi to tease and play around? Maybe it’s all part of the Ministry’s plans to foster your relationship and produce optimum results for the future. But when your gaze meets his, Iwaizumi regards you warmly with a soft smile on his face, and the words are unable to form.

“Cat got your tongue?” He prompts softly in a light tone.

“I…was just thinking.”

“Of what?”

“What you…think about...all of this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…all of this,” you inhale sharply. “The arranged marriage, the arranged dates…everything.”

“Ah,” he begins. “Well…we can’t really do anything, can we? As rude as it sounds, we’re stuck together.”

The corners of your lips twitch upwards, and Iwaizumi continues, "but remember what I said during our first meeting?"

“Mmm.”

“We’ll make it work out,” he promises, his voice steady and sincere. “I’d like to…with you if that's okay."

This time, it’s Iwaizumi who searches your eyes, and for the first time, there's nervousness in his gaze, and that twinging sensation in your chest returns. He’s trying to make the most of the situation, mandated and irreversible for the rest of your lives. It is not the most ideal situation – one’s future decided by the Ministry of Family Affairs – yet Iwaizumi is moving forward despite the circumstances. You bite your lip, casting your gaze downwards, fumbling for your thoughts.

But something within you cracks into a million shards, and the lingering apprehension ebbs away, a wave of assurance washing over you instead, and you slowly raise your gaze.

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Iwaizumi adds quickly when the silence grows. “I mean, there’s –”

You quickly grab his hand, your thumb softly brushing against his knuckles, and his eyes widen at the contact. “It’s okay with me,” you answer.

Iwaizumi stares at you, lips parted before his features relax, and he takes your hand in his. His touch is soft and comforting as he gently squeezes your hand, and you can’t help but smile.

Everything feels sudden, overwhelming events and thoughts and feelings, all spiraling out of your control. But Iwaizumi’s _here_ , his presence grounding and reminding you that you are not alone in this new situation. Something is comforting in that, you think, as he ruffles the top of your head and you protest in response, your fiancé laughing merrily at your frustration. Maybe he really isn’t that bad, after all.

Maybe the two of you will make it through.

–

In the third month of your engagement, you and Iwaizumi are summoned to the wedding hall.

You learn that the Ministry of Family Affairs adores the word _efficiency_ , as the assigned official helps with the preparations for your impending nuptials with the tablet in her hands. In hindsight, you are not surprised; everything under the Ministry is planned to ensure the line moved quickly to increase the population numbers as soon as possible: from the construction of similar halls across the country, the comprehensive app on the tablet to help arrange each detail for the wedding and accompanying reception, the multiple weddings across the city during the weekends, the collaboration with the Ministry of Infrastructure and Land to ensure newlywedded couples immediately moved in together.

Each detail for the wedding is hashed out over the day: guest list (family and close friends only), the color scheme (green and ivory), invitation designs, the layout of the ballroom, lights, decorations, and flowers. Lunch takes the form of taste testing different menu items and making your selections, followed by wrapping up remaining elements for the ceremony and reception. Your head hurts from the prolonged stare on the bright screen, analyzing and discussing each option in detail, far too many decisions to make in one sitting.

There is only relief once all the sections in the app have been filled out, the official runs through the decisions once more, and everything is finalized with the press of the _confirm_ button on the screen.

It’s already mid-afternoon when the meeting concludes, and you and Iwaizumi sigh simultaneously as the car stops at a red light. “That took way too long,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Yeah, that was a whole year’s worth of planning in six hours,” he agrees. “They really want us to get married soon.”

You chew on your bottom lip. The finalized date was _two weeks_ away, incredibly closer than you initially thought. Everything feels _hurried_ like the matched couples are part of another monthly statistic or quota, and a defeated sigh escapes you at the thought. Iwaizumi glances at you, and you wave a hand. "Eyes on the road," you remind him just as the light turns green.

“I know, I know. How are you feeling?”

You carefully choose your words, staring at the passing cityscape in front of you. “Just…” You pause to exhale, shoulders dropping. “Just really exhausted; it’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, I understand. Getting up early on a Saturday and talking about the wedding for six hours takes a toll on someone.”

The vehicle makes a left turn, and your gaze wanders to Iwaizumi’s profile as he keeps his attention to the road, following each curve and dip of his features. This is the man who’s been deemed as your perfect match, your fiancé and soon-to-be spouse in the upcoming weeks. You will soon be sharing the rest of your lives together, living under the same roof, and possibly even starting a family together. You swallow at the thought, weight on your chest growing heavy at the image of the probable future, the desire of the Ministry of Family Affairs and –

"Hey," Iwaizumi's voice cuts through your thoughts, his eyes looking into yours. You blink before the tips of your ears burn hot at the realization that you've been _staring_ at him. “Doin’ alright?”

“O-oh, yeah,” you stammer, looking away and shifting your gaze out the window.

He hums, and you bite your bottom lip, embarrassment rushing through you. Your answer is poorly constructed, and he seems to be aware, and you internally chide yourself for your absentmindedness. “There’s a lot,” he begins, prompting you to turn to him again. “And it’s very overwhelming right now – but I’m here. We’ll make it work out.”

There’s a gentle smile on Iwaizumi’s face when he casts you a quick glance before returning his focus on the drive. The uneasiness ebbs away at his words, and you exhale, murmuring a soft “okay” in acknowledgment, and he reaches out to give your hand a quick squeeze. The contact is warm and reassuring, a reminder that his presence and words are real, and the weight begins to dissipate.

* * *

Iwaizumi calls you on Friday a week before the wedding ceremony. It is nothing out of the ordinary; phone calls and messaging have been part of the routine since your first meeting, accompanying his familiarity with the time of your usually scheduled lunch break at work. Still, you can’t help but wonder why he is calling, anticipation beginning to rise as your thumb automatically taps on the green icon on the screen to respond before bringing the device to your ear, murmuring a gentle _hi_ in greeting.

“Hey,” he greets. “How’s lunch going?”

“Oh, pretty good until you called,” you answer playfully.

He laughs from his end of the call, and the sound prompts you to smile yourself. “Yeah? Well, I guess I’ll hang up now.”

“I dare you.”

“I will once I ask my question.”

“What’s that?”

“Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow?”

The chopsticks in your hands almost escape your grip and your breath catches in your throat at the sudden request. The words emerge so suddenly and _naturally_ , almost nonchalant and as though he was asking you about the weather. There's silence from your end for a moment, and Iwaizumi clears his throat, startling you. “Still there?” he asks casually.

“Oh! Uh, y-yeah,” you stammer, a fluttering sensation taking flight within you. “O-of course, I mean, I’d love to go.”

Relief is evident in the tone of Iwaizumi’s voice through the phone. “Okay, great! I’m glad…I was hoping that we could go out together without the Ministry arranging everything. You know – like what we did last time.”

You smile softly at the memory. “That would be nice.”

“Would you like to go to the beach? I thought we could go for dinner again and then go to the beach and have ice cream after."

“You really thought about this, didn’t you?”

There is a pause and you hear the clicking of a mouse from his end of the phone before his voice emerges with a sheepish tone. “I…did, actually.”

“I look forward to it,” you say. “What time?”

“Does five sound alright?”

“Sure. I’ll see you then.”

“See you, take care.”

The call ends with a click, and you set down your phone on the table. The corners of your lips twitch, tugging to form a smile as warmth blooms within you at the thought of seeing him again. As much as the two of you spend the weekends in each other's company, you find yourself anticipating the upcoming meeting alongside the weekend's commencement. It’s something to look forward to with how the week has been dragging, and when you return to your cubicle at the end of your lunch break, there is a spark of energy within you that helps you get through the day.

Iwaizumi waits by the apartment's front entrance the following day, timely as usual, with his hands in the pockets of his coat. He smiles and raises a hand in greeting, and you mimic the gesture before the two of you descend the steps together.

“How are things going?” Iwaizumi asks casually, fingers lightly tapping on the steering wheel's leather as the vehicle drives down the familiar stretch of an avenue leading to the city's core. 

You hum, momentarily drowned out by the Ministry of Education’s radio advertisement, before you speak. “Not too bad,” you respond truthfully. “Just…a bit nervous, I guess – the wedding’s next week.”

He lets out a soft "hmm" before silence grows. “That’s really soon, huh?”

“Yeah,” you fiddle with the shoulder strap of your purse. “I guess I’m just antsy that we don’t really have to do anything.”

“They’re doing everything for us,” he agrees, deftly maneuvering the vehicle into a right turn. “I’ll be honest that it doesn’t seem real sometimes.”

“Mmm, all we really have to do is show up.”

“Well, unless one of us wants to run away – there’s that too.”

You turn to him sharply at his words; there is no malice or anything hidden in his words, only blunt honesty of the reality accompanying the arrangements. It’s not uncommon to hear whispers of secret couples, disappearing brides or grooms, underground wedding ceremonies, officials from the Ministry of Justice appearing unexpectedly. Affection is a feeling that cannot be controlled by the Ministry of Family Affairs, as much as how stabilizing the population numbers in the country was of utmost importance. Still, the thought of infringing the law and the orders makes you uncomfortable, creeping down your neck, and you shudder involuntarily.

Iwaizumi chuckles softly. “I was kidding.”

“Were you? What if you _do_ run away?”

He sounds firm and confident as he glances at you, gaze lingering when they meet your own. “I won’t,” Iwaizumi states. “I won’t run away.”

You gape at him, any sort of response about to form melting at the tip of your tongue as warmth blooms within you, and the beating of your heart is suddenly louder than before. He looks ahead towards the road again, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards into an amused expression, and Iwaizumi speaks once more, a slight lilt in his voice. “What about you?”

Your lips part as you attempt to collect your thoughts, still reeling from his resolution. The person before you is the one who’s been chosen for you and spent the passing months becoming acquainted with, learning each other’s quirks and interests in preparation for the future laid out before the two of you. You know Iwaizumi isn’t a person; he is kind and amiable, his company something you’ve grown to look forward to. His presence and recurring reassuring words are a reminder that you are not alone in navigating this new sudden reality, falling in step with each other’s pace, comforting despite the hesitation and the unknown.

You exhale, playing with the strap of your purse again. “You…know the answer to that.”

“Do I?” Iwaizumi muses. “Is that a ‘no’ then?”

You blurt out a hasty response, “no! I mean – yes – uh –”

He laughs heartily, pleased with himself, and you look away as the tips of your ears burn hot in embarrassment. “I get you, don’t worry,” Iwaizumi says.

“Oh. I hope you do.”

“I do – that’s more than enough for me.”

You cast him a curious look, but he doesn't add more, only a smile reappearing on his face as the ride continues. Perhaps your answer is satisfactory enough; Iwaizumi doesn’t mention anything else during dinner, nor during the drive to the seaside, your exchanges focused more on catching up with each other’s week. By the time you arrive at the beach, the skies are darkening with only a few individuals walking around, bare footsteps marking the pristine sand, and a warm gradient of oranges, reds, and yellows contrasting the darkness of the waters.

The sound of the waves against the beach is calming and you exhale, your frame relaxing as the two of you walk alongside the path adjacent to the shoreline. “I haven’t been to the beach since high school,” you confess.

“Really? It’s your first time since then?”

You nod. “Yeah. Things got busy since then – studying, getting a job, moving out. Then most of my friends started to get married and they moved, so…”

“Ah…” Iwaizumi pauses before continuing, “I guess I chose a good place then.”

You stare at him inquisitively. “What’s that?”

Iwaizumi stops in his tracks, and you do the same, watching him exhale and clear his throat. He places one hand in the pocket of his jacket, murmuring your name softly. “So,” he begins. “I know it’s already been arranged, but let me do this properly…”

He kneels on one knee, holding out a simple yet pretty ring with a pearl in its center, nestled in a black velvet box. You gape at him as Iwaizumi continues with a smile. “Will you marry me?”

–

You feel oddly calm as you sit in the waiting room of the wedding hall, counting down the seconds until the ceremony's commencement. Perhaps it’s because there is little involvement from you and Iwaizumi aside from deciding the details, all preparations entrusted in the hands of the officials from the Ministry of Family Affairs. At the very least, they grant you a cursory glance of the ballroom before you are ushered to a private room for your hair and makeup, every element precisely what you had agreed upon during the meeting.

Still, you pinch yourself on your arm, watching your skin's affected spot begin to bloom red. This is real and the present, as much as it feels like you’re playing a role that you’ve been suddenly entrusted in.

There is little time for delay; an official from the Ministry knocks on the door and escorts you to the ballroom, leads you to the massive wooden doors. You raise your head and straighten your frame, and the doors swing open, accompanied by the start of the music. Your presence prompts the guests to turn, gasps audible when you walk forward, your grip on the bouquet tight as you keep your gaze ahead to where Iwaizumi is waiting.

He looks impeccable, dressed in a black suit, and his hair pushed back, his usual smile already on his face when you near. Iwaizumi holds his arm towards you, and your fingers immediately curl into the crook of his elbow, casting him a tiny smile under the veil.

“Hey,” his voice is a low murmur as he guides the way to the waiting officiant at the front of the ballroom. “You look beautiful.”

“Does that mean I looked bad last time?”

Iwaizumi chuckles softly. “You know what I mean.”

The rest of the ceremony is a blur, only fragments retaining their clarity: the wedding commissioner’s opening words, the prompt to exchange your vows and rings, and the gentleness in Iwaizumi’s voice as he takes his hand in yours and slides the band snugly around your left finger. Your trance ends when the phrase _you may kiss the bride_ rings in your ears, and you blink when Iwaizumi searches your gaze. Words are unnecessary, and you muster a tiny smile, followed by a nod in acknowledgment. His shoulders relax, fingers gently raising the veil over your head before leaning in. 

Your first kiss is chaste and soft, almost like a whisper, and he draws away before you even realize it.

The room erupts in applause, and you can faintly hear the voice of the wedding commissioner announcing your union over the erratic pounding of your heart in your chest and ringing in your ears.

* * *

The move is ordered the week after the wedding.

Your house – your _new, shared_ house – is in a quiet and new subdivision towards the city limits, exterior like the residences within the vicinity, the metal number _6_ in black mounted on the wall by the mailbox differentiating it from the others. It is a simple residence with a kitchen, bathroom, two bedrooms, and a living room; average with simple furniture, the perfect blank slate for a newly married young couple. Iwaizumi lets out a whistle as he sets down a box against the wall, the words _bathroom_ hastily scrawled on its side in messy handwriting, casting the interior a cursory glance.

“So, this is for us?” he muses. “It’s bigger inside.”

“It does,” you agree. “But the cleaning won’t be too bad.”

Iwaizumi quips, "I'm not too sure about that, I think you have many things.”

You cross your arms on your chest, raising an eyebrow as you retort, “says the one who has a lot of boxes labeled _stuff_ in the moving truck right at this moment.”

He laughs at your counter, and you smile back in victory. “Okay, point taken,” Iwaizumi concedes. “You win this time.”

“This time won’t be the only time,” you inform him with a light smile, walking past to open the door to the master bedroom and peering inside. “You need to get used to me winning all the time.”

“Is that so?” Iwaizumi prompts, taking a step closer towards your direction and searching your eyes, a playful lilt to his voice. “You’re not going to let your _husband_ win a point or two?”

You gape at him, lips parting as you scramble for a response, yet his proximity is too distracting and jumbling your thoughts. He raises a brow, waiting for your answer, and the most you can do is mutter _anyway_ before walking into the bedroom, ignoring the burning sensation at the tips of your ears. The room is plainly decorated, a dresser and cabinet accompanying a large bed, and you bite your cheek at the sight, exhaling as hesitation threatens to rise.

Iwaizumi hums, the sound low and reverberating through your bones. “I take it we’re supposed to be sharing a room then?”

You turn around, and he continues, this time in a gentler voice and with even softer gaze, all signs of the initial playfulness gone. “I’ll take the other room,” he says. “Remember, we don’t have to do what they say.”

Your husband reaches out to pat your shoulder reassuringly, before heading back to the main entrance, and your gaze follows his retreating figure. Another thoughtful offer; you’ve lost count how many times he’s made those since your first meeting, and gratitude blossoms within you. You cast the bedroom one last glance before following him, frame more relaxed as you focus on the awaiting task of moving your respective belongings.

The day goes by quickly, spent unpacking, sorting, and arranging your possessions in your new lodgings, empty boxes eventually piling up by the front door for recycling. Exhaustion weighs heavily by the time the two of you eat dinner, a quick meal consisting of instant noodles over silence, and you remind yourself to go grocery shopping to fill up the refrigerator. Iwaizumi raises his gaze from the bowl in front of him, and he breaks the silence with a nonchalant, “we need to go grocery shopping tomorrow,”

“Are you psychic? I was just thinking the same thing.”

He chuckles. “Maybe this is why they think we’re a perfect match.”

You smile softly to yourself. “Perhaps. But I just think we shouldn’t eat instant noodles all the time; we have work on Monday.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees, dipping his chopsticks into the bowl once again. The silence returns as the two of you resume eating, your gaze focused on your bowl as you think about the tasks remaining to be completed before the end of the weekend. There’s still ironing, grocery shopping, planning your meals for the week –

Your head snaps up at the realization, and your voice escapes you just as Iwaizumi starts.

“Um –”

  
“So –”

The two of you gape at one another, suddenly exchanging a _"you first_ ," followed by a _“no, you,”_ and you bite your lip before taking the invitation. "I was wondering what time you usually leave? I usually make my lunches, but it would save us time and electricity if it’s all done in one go.”

“Now, are _you_ the psychic one? I was about to ask you that,” Iwaizumi laughs. “I usually leave by seven.”

“Oh, same. What time do you wake up?”

“Five – I go for a run first thing.”

“Hmm,” you nod. “I guess it doesn’t matter at this point then since we both get up early.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not a bad cook – you can show off to your coworkers that your husband made your lunch.”

“Sure, sure, I look forward to it.” A laugh escapes you before you pause, another question forming in your mind, and you glance down at the smooth surface of the dining table. “I have another question.”

“What’s that?”

Nervousness flutters within you, carefully posing the question when you raise your eyes to meet his. “I…would it be okay if I call you by your first name?”

Iwaizumi gapes at you, blinking, and the back of your neck burns hot as you scramble to formulate a follow-up, “It’s just…it’s weird if I keep referring you as _Iwaizumi_ when we’re…married.”

He grins, and the beating of your heart quickens its pace at his bright reaction, the heat now spreading to your ears and fingers' tips. “I’d like that,” he answers. “I don’t mind at all.”

You can’t help but smile. “Oh, that’s good…Hajime.”

“I guess it’s fair game for me too?” Iwaizumi prompts before adding your given name, a warm lilt to his voice, and the fluttering of butterflies within you intensifies. The most you can do is a nod in return, but it's satisfactory enough for him, that beam returning once again. He's terrible for your heart, you think to yourself, as your husband happily finishes the remainder of his dinner. Still, you have a passing thought that you don’t mind, not when his cheery expression is incredibly charming, and you smile.

But you won’t tell him that just yet.

* * *

You begin to learn Iwaizumi’s quirks over the passing weeks as you share the roof together.

He’s an early bird, always up before the sun rises even during the weekends, and returning home from his run when the morning light is beginning to peek over the horizon. He prefers sorting his clothes by color, takes his coffee with one cream and one sugar, and carefully folds all paper bags into neat squares. He surprisingly possesses a stubborn streak contrasting his reliable side, only revealing itself when the two of you head to the market for produce and spend a good ten minutes debating which stall to visit for apples.

Iwaizumi’s stubbornness presents itself again on a Sunday, the silence in the house interrupted by the whirr of the exhaust fan, and your curiosity takes you to the kitchen after you finish folding your share of the laundry. “What are you making?” you ask, approaching the stove to examine the cooking pot's contents.

“Hey, I told you to stay out until lunch is made."

“I don’t want you burning down the house – what if the Ministry of Infrastructure makes us pay?”

“I _won’t_ burn down the house,” he says, waving the wooden spoon in the air, emphasizing his words. “I’ll have you know that today I’m showing you that I’m not bad at cooking.”

“Sure,” you respond nonchalantly, opening the refrigerator to pour yourself a glass of water. “I’ll make sure to get the first aid kit ready.”

Iwaizumi takes a step towards you, and you blink at him, a yelp escaping you when he pinches your nose. “I’ll make you eat those words when my special curry knocks you off your feet.”

You swat his hand away, making a face. “Whatever – as long as you don’t set the house on fire.”

He grins victoriously, rolling up his sleeves before he begins to sauté the onions in the pot. The aroma immediately fills the kitchen, and you lean against the marble counter, absentmindedly watching his movements – following the onions are the grated ginger and garlic, tofu, and carrots. But the glint of silver in the light draws your attention to his left hand, the wedding band still around his ring finger, and you utter your observation before you realize it. “You’re still wearing your ring.”

Iwaizumi casts you a look of surprise at the comment. “Huh? Oh, yeah,” he acknowledges, glancing down at his hand. “I guess I forget to take it off sometimes – you’re wearing yours too.”

“Am I?” You raise your left hand, a soft _huh_ escaping you when you notice the matching ring's presence around your finger. “I thought I took it off after work on Friday.”

“Sometimes I don’t notice I’m still wearing it; I guess I’m just used to it.”

You extend your fingers, watching the silver catch the light. Perhaps it’s the multitude of responsibilities occupying your mind that removing the band at the end of the day was the least of your concerns, its presence light enough and easy to overlook. A part of you doesn’t mind; it didn’t prevent you from completing your daily tasks, inconspicuous enough to forget you’re still wearing it. Iwaizumi reaches forward and takes your hand in his, raising them to press the palms together and lean your fingers against each other’s. You gape at the sudden gesture, breath hitching in your throat at the warmth of his hand against yours, and your husband hums, eyes twinkling when they regard your own.

“You have small hands,” he comments, lips quirking into a smile as though he just made an important discovery. Butterflies flutter within you, warmth flickering in your chest, and you sheepishly look away, prompting Iwaizumi to laugh, dropping the contact.

He’s disastrous for your heart, you think to yourself, trying to calm your breathing. Iwaizumi’s lips are still forming a faint smile as he adds water into the pot and turns the stove's dial to raise the heat. You can’t help but keep your gaze on his profile, the outline you’re all too familiar with, and suddenly your heart begins to beat erratically again.

–

The summons to the main offices of the Ministry of Family Affairs arrives two months into your marriage.

You bite your bottom lip as dread pools in the pit of your stomach, the glass and concrete structure casting an ominous shadow over the vicinity, the sight of it an unwelcome déjà vu. It feels like it’s been long ago since the first directive's arrival, informing you of your arranged engagement and impending marriage. Nonetheless, you can’t help but feel stiff, each step bringing you closer to what seems to be a judgment day, a weight beginning to sink on your chest.

Iwaizumi murmurs your name softly, prompting you to pause in your tracks and turn to him, and he smiles kindly. “I’m here,” he reminds you, reaching out to give your hand a comforting squeeze.

But this time is different.

You nod in reply, mustering a smile of your own, and the walk resumes, your shoes' sound on the stone tiles in sync as the two of you enter the building.

You and Iwaizumi are immediately escorted to one of the meeting rooms on the second level of the lobby, identical to the one you were in last time. The official smiles, sitting across the table from the both of you, eyeing your seated figures for a moment. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he assures in a calm voice. “Today’s meeting is to determine how you are doing since the start of your marriage. The Ministry of Family Affairs aims to provide all the support that we can in our power to all couples we have matched. Please do not hesitate to tell us anything that is in your mind.”

A part of you deliberates the verity in his words, but the uncomfortable feeling within you reminds you to be cautious. It is best to keep your cards to yourself and maintain neutrality, and you begin to carefully choose your words. But Iwaizumi reaches for your hand again and gives it a reassuring squeeze before responding on your behalf. “We’re doing fine – there’s nothing to be concerned about,” he informs.

The representative nods. “I see. That is a relief for us to hear. Have you considered how you will proceed forward in this relationship?”

You and Iwaizumi exchange glances. There is _no_ plan, nor did the two of you ever discuss one. But you know where the question is coming from and why it is posed, the Ministry's mandate all too familiar to you, and you answer carefully, “we’re watching how our relationship is growing for now.”

Something flickers briefly across the official’s features, but the polite smile returns to his face. "I understand. I encourage you to have a conversation about what to do from now on for our society. Otherwise, we are glad to see that you are both doing well.”

Luckily the conversation shifts, and after a few questions about the house, the meeting concludes, and the two of you are escorted to the doors. You let out a sigh of relief, the cool breeze a welcome relief from the tension, and Iwaizumi chuckles as he opens the vehicle's passenger door for you. “You feelin’ alright?”

“Just a bit tired. I feel like dealing with the Ministry takes a lot of energy.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he answers, buckling his seatbelt before starting the car. “It’s like walking on eggshells with them.”

You exhale, leaning against the seat and watching the cityscape pass by outside the window, frame relaxing as the glass and concrete building inches further away with each second. The meeting is a subtly veiled reminder that they are watching, aware of every single movement and decision made, a piece of advice to keep adhering to the recommendation. The reality is restrictive, but the two of you have been under their supervision since the match was made, even more now that you are married.

A warm weight rests on the top of your head, prompting you to turn to Iwaizumi as he ruffles your hair, and you frown. “Hajime, I’m not a _child_ ,” you huff, encouraging him to laugh. Despite the retort, you admit the contact is comforting, and you relax into his touch.

“I’m not doing this because I think you’re a kid.”

“I know.”

“Yeah? Then do you also know that we –”

“Don’t have to do what they say,” you finish, the words escaping you instantaneously, and your lips form a tiny smile.

He continues, his gaze still focused on the road ahead, “they might talk about how our marriage is for ‘ _the greater good of society_ ’ or whatever, but I don’t care – and you shouldn’t either, but that’s easier said than done. Your comfort and feelings are more important than the population numbers; they can deal with that. It’s not your – and our – responsibility to make sure there will be a next generation.”

You keep your gaze affixed to his, a tender fluttering within you when you find sincerity in his eyes. Iwaizumi casts you a quick glance, smiling gently before shifting his attention again, and the tight sensation begins to loosen. “Yeah…” you murmur softly.

“I’m here,” he adds, tone of his voice steadfast and clear. “I’ll always be here.”

The statement is not out of obligation, nor flat and forced, a weight attached to his words that you can't pinpoint. But you know he is genuine; Iwaizumi has been all this time since your first meeting, his words and presence always reassuring, the anchor grounding you amid the hurriedness of it all. The beating of your heart grows erratic as you slowly take and lower his hand resting on the top of your head, brushing your thumb across his knuckles, the contact prompting him to suddenly turn to you. “Hajime…I’m glad it’s you,” you say softly.

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen at your words, and you wonder if they convey the relief and gratitude you’ve been nurturing. But he smiles immediately, brilliant and joyful, as he returns his attention to the road once more, the car pausing smoothly when the light turns red. “I’m glad it’s you too,” he echoes, taking your hand and giving it another squeeze.

The gesture is comforting, and you smile to yourself, shifting your head to look out the window once again as the ride back home continues, unconsciously intertwining your fingers with his.

* * *

The warmth of spring blooms into summer, its vestiges gradually fading into autumn with the shift in the color of the foliage. You and Iwaizumi get used to your new lifestyle, a routine developed and memorized, your days in sync with each other’s. A tiny part of you, hidden within the depths alongside your worries, sets a half-hearted expectation that somehow, _something_ will shift and change for the worst. Perhaps it's the realist within you or the wary cynic, maybe both; it is difficult to predict the growth of a relationship that is prearranged, after all.

Of course, Iwaizumi proves you wrong – just like what he always does – and you are more than glad to be incorrect.

He is ceaselessly warm and thoughtful, always searching your eyes and asking for permission before inching forward. His hands gently brush against yours when the two of you walk together early in the mornings, thumb sweeping against your knuckles when he drops you off at work, a scarf wrapped around your neck in chilly autumn mornings with a chiding reminder. It is a startling shift, though natural over time, but you don’t mind, not when you reciprocate his actions. Your fingers deftly adjust the buttons on his coat, hand swatting his playfully when he sneaks a piece of the awaiting agedashi tofu on the kitchen counter, a surprising peck on the cheek before you run out of his car and into the offices of the Ministry of Finance with the tips of your ears burning hot.

(But what takes time getting used to is the surge of electricity that raises goosebumps every time you feel his warmth on your skin, tingling all the way to your fingertips.)

On the night the temperatures dip low, you finally bring up a selfish question lingering in the back of your mind over the week. Nervousness simmers as you observe him happily eat dinner and talk about his day in between pauses, your mind running through the words carefully. You’re not sure how he will react, considering the circumstances of your relationship, but you suppose it is better to ask than let it fester longer than necessary.

You exhale, raising your gaze, and Iwaizumi pauses. “What’s up?” he prompts, a pleasant smile appearing instantaneously.

“Hajime…”

“Yeah?”

You fiddle with your fingers before finally biting the bullet. “What if…we share the room?”

“Which room?”

“You know…the main bedroom.”

He stares blankly, and you swear you can hear the gears of his mind clicking into place before his eyes widen and his mouth falls open. "W-wait, you mean, your room?"

“Well…it’s supposed to be _our_ room but –”

A blush burns across Iwaizumi’s cheeks, and his voice comes out as a furious stammer, "I-I…I mean, I don’t –”

Perhaps you’ve grown comfortable enough with him that you can’t help but tease him a bit, your head tilting slightly to the side. “Are you saying you don’t want to share the room with me?”

“It’s not that!” Iwaizumi shakes his head frantically. “It’s just…” he pauses for a moment before continuing. “I don’t want you to feel like we – like you have to.”

He’s thinking of your comfort again, just like the previous times, another tally to his name since your relationship's commencement. But you purse your lips, the resolution to pose the selfish question already firm in your mind. “I’m not asking you because I have to,” you answer, looking into his eyes. “I’m asking you because I _want_ to."

Perhaps it's not the answer he's expecting; he's silent again, and the chopsticks slide out of his grip, falling on the top of the table with a clatter. You take his speechlessness as an invitation to continue, “if it’s you, then I’m alright with it. Besides…” your voice trails off, butterflies fluttering wildly inside you. “It gets cold at night now.”

Iwaizumi gapes at your words, blinking, and you return your attention to your dinner plate as you wait for his answer. A breathless chuckle escapes him, and you lift your gaze, watching him run a hand through his dark hair and shake his head. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

“Is that good or bad?”

“Well, I don’t want to say _no_ to you, that’s for sure.”

You chew on your bottom lip, feeling a smile threatening to form. “I’ll take that as a _yes_ , then?”

He props his elbow on the table, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm. “Yeah,” responds Iwaizumi, his eyes crinkling into half-moons when he grins. “Just don’t regret asking me if you hear me snoring in my sleep.”

You can immediately feel the warmth radiating from Iwaizumi when he collapses into the left side bed and crawls under the comforter, mumbles a sleepy _good night_ as he turns on his side, and you watch the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Perhaps it’s the colder weather influencing you, or the fitful beating of your heart in your chest, or his proximity – maybe even _all_ – that you find yourself inching closer to him, looping an arm over his waist, earning a startled grunt from your husband. Iwaizumi lets out a surprised mention of your name, his frame stiff, and you can’t help but smile at his reaction.

“It’s cold,” you mumble.

It takes a moment for him to relax, a chuckle escaping him, and Iwaizumi rests a hand on top of yours as your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs in a low voice. “Good night.”

“Mmm, good night.”

Iwaizumi’s breathing evens, and he falls asleep in no time, his hand remaining firm on top of yours. While fatigue seeps into your bones, sleep doesn't come quite quickly – the sensation of your irregular heartbeat too loud and vigorous, disturbing any attempt of sinking into a peaceful slumber.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when sleep finally takes you, but one last thought slips through your fingers like fine sand, and you smile into your husband’s shoulder as a wave of tranquil lulls you into unconsciousness.

 _I love you_.

* * *

Your heart pounds in your chest loudly, the flutter of butterflies frantic, fingertips tingling with the fizzle of electricity, and you shake your head as you try to focus on folding your freshly laundered clothing before you. But your mind keeps returning to the ephemeral realization, the three words you have never thought you would ever think of, and you chew on your bottom lip. _Love_ carries substantial weight, and the uncertainty begins to bloom, its roots constricting around your heart.

Do you really love Iwaizumi? Or are your feelings out of convenience?

You pause, brows furrowing as you try to collect your thoughts. Maybe you do _like_ him, a kind of _like_ that tastes sweet and bubbly at the tip of your tongue, identical to your favorite temperate spring days. Iwaizumi is considerate, tenacious, and reliable, his presence grounding despite your relationship's circumstances and the concealed pressure from the Ministry of Family Affairs. With him, actions and thoughts are unguarded, a _want_ more than a _supposed to_ , patience and trust steadying during the waves of hesitancy.

Perhaps it _is_ –

“You have fluff stuck to your hair,” Iwaizumi’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and your head whips to the side, just as he reaches out to pluck the little white portion of fuzz. His face is close, concern decorating his features, and your heart beats its staccato rhythm again when his eyes meet yours. “Got it.”

You swallow, trying to collect your thoughts into a coherent response. “O-oh, thanks.”

“Oh, and there’s –” you freeze when his fingers gently brush against your cheek, a stray lock of hair tucked behind your ear. “There we go.”

Iwaizumi hums in satisfaction before he stands up, gathers his laundry basket in his hands to take it to your now-shared bedroom. You exhale slowly to collect yourself once he’s out of sight, nerves far too frazzled, and skin tingling at the fleeting contact. But you stop when you hear him hum loudly to himself as he opens the drawers in the nearby room, and a smile threatens to pull on your lips at the resolution that materializes instantly.

The remainder of the day passes by quietly and uneventfully, occupied with chores around the house. Iwaizumi’s belongings moved and sorted in the bedroom, floors vacuumed and swept, shelves dusted, plants watered and trimmed. Fatigue weighs on you by the time it is half-past eight in the evening, all dishes dried and put away, and all you want to do is curl up into a ball and sleep for the rest of the night. A yawn escapes you, prompting your husband to laugh, and you whirl around to make a face at him.

“Does that mean you’re not up for a movie tonight?” asks Iwaizumi, television remote in his hand, as he sits down on the couch and drapes a blanket over his lap. You pause in your tracks, about to make your way to the bedroom, your brows furrowing at his question.

“I thought we said no to movies? Remember we left the movie theatre last time?”

“I know, but it’s Saturday night,” he answers, just as the purple iris insignia of the Ministry of Education, Culture, and Arts appears on the screen. “At least we’re at home, and we can shut it off any time."

“Alright – if this is boring, then I’m going to sleep early.”

“C’mon, it’s a movie chosen and produced by the MECA, how bad could it be? And why are you going to bed before nine on a Saturday night?”

“I am _old_ , Hajime, I can’t stay up past a certain time anymore,” you roll your eyes, but you relent, taking the empty seat beside his and leaning against the couch's cushions as the opening credits begin. Iwaizumi shifts in his spot, and you turn your head, a question about to form, yet it dissolves instantaneously when he loops an arm around your shoulders and gently tugs you closer to him.

“It’s cold,” he says nonchalantly by way of explanation.

The fitful rhythm of your heartbeat resumes once again, accompanying the blooming of warmth spreading to your ears and fingers' tips. You nervously lean against him, and he lets out a satisfied hum in response, resting his head on top of yours. Iwaizumi’s presence is comforting, your frame gradually easing against his, breathing in time with the rise and fall of his chest. You can’t help but feel at ease, a soothing lull that you can only associate with his being, and a smile softly forms on your face as your eyelids grow heavy.

–

You rise from the sea of unconsciousness with a sudden jolt.

You blink at the sight of your husband’s sleeping face in front of you, shifting to the action from the television screen over his shoulder, then returning to Iwaizumi’s face. You raise a hand, about to gently push his shoulder wake him, but you pause when you notice his features' relaxed curves; the peaceful look on his face is enough to reconsider getting up and disturbing his sleep; instead, you choose to remain in your spot beside him.

Still, you can’t resist the urge to gently smooth out the hair from Iwaizumi’s face, and there's a tingling sensation at your fingertips when you push his hair back from his forehead. He truly is far more handsome in person, you think to yourself, an amused smile softly tugging on your lips at the memory of your first meeting. It feels like long ago, almost a full cycle of seasons passing since then, and you sigh wistfully. 

There is a wave of calm washing over you as your fingers lower to skim over his cheek. It’s the effect he never fails to bring, grounding you and helping you feel more reassured about everything that has been thrown towards the two of you. Iwaizumi’s dedicated to making it work out with you, being with you every step of the way, supporting you as much as possible, and a warm sensation blossoms in your chest in fondness. 

The sensation of stroking his cheeks seems to rouse Iwaizumi from his slumber, and he sighs, eyes slowly opening. He searches your gaze for a moment, then casting you a sleepy smile as he places his hand over yours, mumbling a drowsy “what time is it?”, the low tones reverberating in your bones.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you bring your face closer to his, and Iwaizumi's eyes grow wide in surprise. His lips part, but you close the distance first, stealing his words away from him.

Your husband’s lips are warm and soft, something you didn't recognize during your first kiss at the wedding. The intimate contact back then had been featherlight and fleeting, almost shy, and out of obligation. But this time, it's more certain as Iwaizumi kisses you back, one hand cupping your jaw to draw your face closer to his. He gently nips on your bottom lip, a soft whimper escaping you as your fingers curl into his hair instinctively, and your lips part to grant him the permission he’s been craving. Each nibble and swipe of his tongue has you leaning into him, grasping his shoulder, and murmuring his name, your reactions automatic to each sensation that leaves your heart beating erratically and yearning for more.

It’s Iwaizumi who draws away first, breathing heavily as he tries to compose himself, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. He looks into your eyes with such intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, a myriad of feelings within his stare: seriousness, passion, hope, and adoration. Iwaizumi’s thumb gently strokes your cheek, and his lips part slightly, a question about to form, but he remains silent. Hesitation clouds his eyes, but the flickering warmth in your chest is fully ablaze as your lips form a smile, and you look into his eyes.

“I love you,” you murmur softly, untangling your fingers in his hair to tenderly caress his cheek as though to emphasize your words.

Nothing else is necessary to be added; the three words are more than enough, and the reluctance in his gaze is replaced by a twinkle of pure delight, affirmation, and _love_ when he grins. “I love you too,” Iwaizumi echoes breathlessly. “I love you.”

You smile as he nuzzles your nose with his, murmuring another confession of love before claiming your lips once more.

* * *

Iwaizumi is waiting at the Ministry of Finance's parking lot by the time you clock out for the weekend, a skip in your step, and anticipation fluttering within you when you notice his figure leaning against his vehicle. It takes you all your will to not run and tackle him, lest you trip and fall, and you settle for a cheery wave when he notices your nearing presence. Iwaizumi removes his hands from his coat pockets, rests them on your sides as he leans in, and you grant him a quick peck on the lips.

“Hey,” he breathes, a grin forming immediately.

“Hi,” you murmur. “Were you waiting long?”

“No, I just got here.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’ll tell the truth if you kiss me again.”

“Are you trying to bargain with me?”

“Maybe.”

You sigh, but you plant another peck on his lips. “Fine.”

“I got here five minutes ago.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad. Let’s go home?”

Iwaizumi opens the passenger door for you before switching over to the driver's side and putting his key in the ignition. He hums to himself as the trip home begins, one hand tapping an idle rhythm on the steering wheel, the other playing with your left hand, and brushing against the wedding band. A tingling prickle of electricity spreads towards your fingertips at the contact against your skin, a thrill that induces butterflies within you, and you smile at the sensation.

“How was your day?” Iwaizumi prompts, casting you a quick glance and a smile of his own.

“Busy as usual,” you answer. “What about you?"

“Busy as usual too. But it’s finally the weekend. Should we do something?”

“There’s chores.”

He laughs at the simple answer. “Other than the chores. Should we go out? Maybe to the Shopping District like the good old times?”

“Hajime, you make it sound like that was a long time ago,” you shake your head. “And I don’t know…staying in sounds nice after how busy this week has been.”

“Yeah? Your wish is my command then.”

You smile in satisfaction, gaze affixed to his profile as he keeps his eyes on the road, grip loosening as he places his other hand on the wheel. The warmth you’ve grown associate with him blossoms again, mixed with joy and adoration, and you watch him talk about his day with a smile on his face. It truly is love, you think to yourself, the undeniable truth despite the uncertainties. He is the one who keeps you grounded and present, brings happiness and calm all at once, and leaves you feeling adored with each gaze and touch. He is the one you want to stand firm with, confide in and assure his worries, and be with for the rest of your days. Iwaizumi is everything and more than you could ask for, and you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the system was right.

Maybe the Ministry of Family Affairs had been right all along. Perhaps there are no mistakes in the compatibility of their matches. What they foresaw what was going to happen –

The vehicle comes to a stop by the house, the sound of the engine shutting off and the click of the doors unlocking interrupting your thoughts. You shake your head when you exit the car – it’s a ridiculous thought to entertain; there is no way to predict the progression of romantic feelings, especially in your situation, and you shove the absurdity of it all back into the depths. Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to notice, only smiles when he takes your hand in his as the two of you walk the steps to the main entrance of the house, fingers intertwining, and the touch sweeps away the lingering doubt.

“Oh, there’s a letter,” he says, using his free hand to retrieve the white envelope crammed inside. Iwaizumi turns it over, a grunt escaping him and dread beginning to pool in your stomach's pit when you recognize the familiar pink peony insignia imprinted on the wax seal. You turn to him, and he nods, that familiar look of resolution in his eyes returning.

Your voice comes out clear and steady, giving his hand a squeeze. “We don’t have to do what they say.”

Your husband agrees with a nod of his head, “no, we don’t."


End file.
